


Right Off Schedule

by Fisticuffs



Category: Time After Time (TV 2017)
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pre-Series, mpreg mention, omega!H.G.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fisticuffs/pseuds/Fisticuffs
Summary: John admired his friend’s intelligence yet often found H.G. to be absentminded and naive in certain areas, and the importance of those matters held no influence over the consideration they were afforded.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you are not familiar with Time After Time but would like to read this fic, all you need to watch is the first seven minutes of the Pilot. Because this fic occurs pre-series.
> 
> I was sad to hear Time After Time was canceled. I didn’t even know it was performing poorly. It wasn’t the best show. And indeed there were several (very fixable) mistakes. But I did enjoy watching it every week. If anyone has a lead on where I might watch the unaired episodes, do tell.
> 
> I think one thing the show should have capitalized on more is H.G./John’s relationship. They really missed an opportunity there. So to honor a relationship that had great potential and to give this show a proper sendoff, I wrote a fic. Because there aren’t any for this ship. And my philosophy will always be that if you want something that doesn’t exist, you have to make it yourself or wait around hoping someone else will. And sometimes I’m impatient. Haha.
> 
> Dubious consent tag just because John is generally, characteristically horrible. H.G. does give consent, but these things do get a little gray sometimes. I’m just warning you that this is a bit of a dark fic. Not too bad. Just some manipulation.
> 
> I used to (and still do) not like A/B/O fics, but here’s my third one. I guess at a certain point, I have to admit to being A/B/O trash. But not today. lol.

Thunder rolled unending in the sky, broken up only by those louder bangs like a gunshot. Rain splattered on the cobbles and on John. What a dreadful night to be out of doors.

He ran up the stoop of his good friend with his coat over his head, covering what his hat did not keep dry. He knocked on the door and waited, grateful to be beneath the awning. H.G.’s housekeeper, Mrs. Nelsen, a kind but ugly old woman, answered the door.

“Dr. Stevenson,” she crowed. She moved aside to let him in and thanked the Lord for his swift arrival, though John credited the messenger and the stagecoach much more practically.

“With conditions like these,” John muttered, “H.G. had best be dying.” He gave her his wet hat and coat.

“Not dying,” the old woman said, “but in a terrible condition. He refused to go to hospital, but he asked for you.”

“All right,” John said, “show us up then.”

The woman’s pace conveyed anything but haste, and John hated to be behind her on the stair. She led him to the door of H.G.’s bedroom and knocked.

“Mr. Wells, sir,” she called, “Dr. Stevenson is here.”

There was silent hesitation on the other side of the door, but after a moment, a tired and quiet voice said, “Send him in.”

Mrs. Nelsen opened the door and John followed her inside. The room was dimly lit, as if H.G., in all his theatricality, prepared for death. The man’s head barely poked up from the mounds of blankets in his large, plush bed. His face was flushed and sweating from fever. John took several guesses at his illness, which would soon fall flat.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nelsen,” H.G. murmured. “That will be all for now.”

“But sir—”

“Please go,” he asked, and he was dreadfully embarrassed to have audience to his malady.

“Yes, sir.” She left and closed the door behind her, but John suspected she went no further than the hallway.

“Well,” he demanded, “symptoms then. Come on, let’s have them.” On the best of days, John was annoyed to have his medical expertise called upon by friends. On the worst of nights, like the one they were currently cursed with, he was downright angry. He hid it well enough.

“I know what’s wrong,” H.G. claimed. He was not forthcoming with the answer.

“Do share,” John sighed. He placed his doctor’s bag on the end of the bed.

H.G. sat up. The blankets fell and folded away from him, and words were not necessary. He was possessed by an undeniable and damning smell.

“H.G.,” John marveled, “I do believe you’re in heat.” How very interesting. John took back everything, including his temper. H.G.’s red face worsened, adding his embarrassed blush upon the fever. “Oh, don’t be so modest,” John ordered. “I knew you were an omega. Didn’t think you were such a forgetful one.”

“I don’t usually forget,” he swore.

“Are you out of medicine?” John questioned. He glanced at the vials on H.G.’s cluttered bedside table and observed them to be half-full or more.

“No,” he confessed. “I’ve just been a little busy... with an experiment in the basement. I take my medicine before bed, you see, and yet the last few nights I have not been to bed. This is my own fault.”

“It does not do, my friend,” said John, “to get so carried away in your writing and your tinkering that you forget to take your tonic.”

“Just help me,” H.G. begged, “please, John.” He wanted only solutions, not lectures.

“Sorry,” John apologized, and he wondered if he truly meant it— doubtful. “You know as well as I do, H.G., there is no stopping it. Even if you went to a hospital right now, all they’d do is minimize a few of the symptoms.” He put his hand on the man’s forehead and H.G. leaned into his touch. John pulled away. “Like the fever.” He tutted and shook his head. “No, H.G., I’m afraid all you can do is suffer through it and learn a lesson.”

H.G. did not accept his prognosis. “There must be something you can do!”

“Yes,” John agreed, “there’s always something, isn’t there?” He looked over the small, soft frame of his friend, considering him. “And I do have to wonder if that’s why you called me here.”

“What do you mean?” H.G. wore indignation very well for someone pretending to be ignorant.

John chuckled. “You know what I am,” he said, “and what I am is the very thing you are in need of at this time. Isn’t that right?”

H.G. swallowed hard, a gulp. John watched his throat constrict. He wanted to bite it.

“M-Maybe,” H.G. stammered, and it was a good start to a sentence which ended all wrong, “you should go.”

John frowned. “If that’s... what... you truly want,” he said. His consideration was a lie.

“It’s what is right,” H.G. insisted.

“Very well,” John permitted. “That’s your choice.” He felt crushing disappointment over an option he never entertained just one hour ago. “I’ll be off then. Good luck, H.G.” John picked up his bag and headed for the door. If he was not summoned back to the bedside, he had a few unpleasant facts to convey.

“John, wait,” H.G. called.

“Yes?”

“What will...” He looked at his hands where they shook and gripped the blankets in his lap. “What will happen?” He was not entirely aware of his own biology. How perfect.

“How the hell should I know?” John scoffed, a falsehood. “I haven’t been _near_  that ward since my residency.” He still visited sometimes late at night— not to take advantage. John would stand at the end of the hall or outside a locked door. He would listen. He listened to the enticing frustrations within. He listened to the omegas beg for him.

“The ward?” H.G. questioned with horror in his eyes.

“Oh, yes,” John insincerely lamented. He came closer and sat upon the foot of the bed. “It’s only ever a temporary stay, of course, a sanctuary of sorts, for forgetful little omegas— like you, H.G.” There was something so beautiful in his friend’s distress. “Single omegas or those with too many children at home already, it keeps them safe, keeps them monitored, tended.” John patted H.G.’s foot and stood to leave once more. It was, of course, a bluff. “And then they go home. You’re a strong man though.” He was a weak child. “I’m certain you will do just fine on your own. Don’t forget to drink plenty of water.”

John made it to the door that time. His hand was on the knob.

“John?”

He turned around but banished his devil’s grin before he did.

“Yes, my friend?”

“Don’t leave?” Bless the little wretch. H.G. actually believed he was asking so much of John. He did not suspect he had been led by the hand to his decision.

John rushed to the bedside, dropping his bag on the floor. He took H.G.’s hand in his, fully aware of the effect skin contact had on him. “Of course not,” he promised. John rubbed his thumb against the back of his hand repeatedly. “Are you sure?”

H.G. watched their joined hands. “No,” he admitted, “but- but it... sounds better, yes? Better than the alternative?” It certainly did.

“We might not be able to stop ourselves,” John warned from silly obligation. “I have to ask again, H.G., are... you... sure?” John would see his friend through heat regardless of the answer. They would simply need further convincing to get there.

In a daze, H.G. nodded his head. “Yes,” he decided. “Yes. Please, will you help me, John?”

John smiled and hid the true emotion for it behind a display of loving support. “Yes, of course.”

The situation required delicacy and a gentle pace. H.G. was at a high risk of changing his mind with only the slightest misstep. Slowly, John leaned in. He dropped H.G.’s hand and instead touched the man’s shoulder then neck and face. H.G. shivered at his touch. How alluring his involuntary twitches were.

“May I kiss you?” John asked. He was going to, but having the man consent would make things so much easier.

H.G. cleared his throat. “Do we, um, have to?” The idea made him nervous. Sex was an act all its own, one which here was a necessity. Kissing elevated the physical demand to romantic intimacy.

“It’s hard,” John lied, “hard for me to get in the mood without it.” It was not a rarity for him to forgo kissing altogether, but with H.G., he wanted to do it. Even before and without his current motivations, John had admired his friend’s lips. Now, and with an excuse, he wanted to experience them. John wanted to sample whatever glorious timidity H.G. brought to a kiss.

“All right,” the man relented. “That should be fine.” It was, after all, such a lesser act when compared with what they planned.

John came forward. He was a perfect gentleman, bridging only half the space between them and letting H.G. voluntarily close the rest. It gained trust. It inspired cooperation. Though he was not one— and John had what of those stories could be cajoled— H.G. kissed like a virgin, so hesitant that it suggested false thoughts of inexperience. Perhaps it was simply that John made him nervous. There would be none of that uncertainty left by the end. John moved his hand to the back of H.G.’s head and brought him even closer, letting that little blond mustache brush against his full beard. He brought his other hand to H.G.’s chest and pushed him back down into the bed. There, he kneeled over the man and straddled him. John attempted to grind their hips together, but there were so many frustrating layers of blankets. He broke their kiss and moved up so he could pull back the comforters and push them to the foot of the bed.

H.G. wore his nightshirt— and nothing underneath. John could guess what that meant. “Just what were you doing with yourself while waiting for me?” he taunted.

“I wasn’t,” H.G. so obviously lied. “I wouldn’t. I—”

There was a knock on the door. “Mr. Wells?” called Mrs. Nelsen. “Is everything all right?”

John groaned. His head fell down between his shoulders and hung there a moment before he jumped out of bed. “Cover back up,” he instructed. “Don’t let her see you.” John could not care less about the man’s modesty, but if anyone were to see H.G. naked, it would be him and only him.

He opened the door, but before he could shoo the annoying woman away, she came into the room. “Are you feeling better now, sir?” Clearly, H.G. and his housekeeper both thought modern medicine could perform miracles.

John had no patience for tact. Every second the woman stood there was time for H.G. to change his mind. “Due to our lack of viable options,” he explained, “Mr. Wells and myself have decided to remedy his condition the old fashion way.”

“John!” H.G. exclaimed.

Mrs. Nelsen looked at her employer. The situation did not sit well with her. “I’m not sure Mr. Wells is in a state to be making such decisions,” she contended.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” John stated, his voice likened to a snarl, “but whether he is within or outside of his right mind, Mr. Wells is still the master of this house.”

Begrudgingly, the woman said, “Yes, sir, that is true.”

“Please,” H.G. spoke up, “you can leave, Mrs. Nelsen. I’ll be just fine with John.”

“With respect, sir,” she said, “I doubt that.” She was overprotective of H.G., or distrustful of John, or perhaps both. Regardless of her fears, the old woman left. Her station afforded her no other choice.

John shut the door behind her. He turned the key in its lock and considered tossing it across the room to be forgotten for a long while. He left it in the door to soothe H.G.’s worries, though there was only safety if John wished it.

He shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Now,” he purred in a low voice, “where were we?” He pounced on the bed and H.G. laughed. He was deliriously separated from his usual senses and demeanor. John liked both versions of the man but was adopting a softer spot for the current one. “I’m going to kiss every inch of your fragrant skin,” he threatened. He began with that bare and tempting neck.

H.G. moaned despite himself and surely in spite of any intentions. “That’s actually—” John bit and he yelped— “that’s very good.” While in heat, H.G.’s every sense became heightened, especially that one of touch, but John did not bring up the attribute. Let H.G. consider him supernaturally skilled. Let the man praise him. “Oh!” he shouted. “Oh, that’s very good, yes.”

John smirked around the skin in his teeth and released it. “Honestly, H.G.,” he chuckled, “we’ve barely started.” He sat back across the man’s legs and pulled on the bottom hem of his nightshirt. “Take this ridiculous thing off,” he commanded.

“Is that really necessary?” H.G. questioned. “It isn’t... really where you’ll be operating.”

“What,” John laughed, “you’ll let me look at and play with your ass but I can’t see your chest? Damn your old world shame.”

“John,” he objected, “your language... please.” John often cursed in front of H.G. It was not the words that bothered him. He did not care for the casualness with which John applied them to him.

“Off,” he said again. John wished to strip his friend of all dignity. He wanted to see a man lay exposed before him, hiding behind nothing, no clothing, no inhibitions. “It will only make your fever worse.”

H.G. always responded best to logic. He sat up and pulled the gown over his head. If he wanted to hang it up or lay it gently over a chair, John denied him by grabbing the silly thing and throwing it into the floor.

“God, aren’t you a sight?” he growled. John was no stranger to lovely bodies. His friend’s was nowhere near the best, but it was a treat to look at. He put his palms against H.G.’s chest and dragged them down, down, leaving a tickle of stimulation in the warm skin.

“Will you undress?” H.G. asked, and he was mortified to ask it. He could not look at John. His arm was draped over his eyes to hide his face. He was embarrassed by the request but desperate enough to voice it. Either it bothered him to be nude beneath a fully dressed man or else he truly needed the sin they could not commit through clothes.

John leaned over H.G.’s body and kissed him while he popped the many buttons on his waistcoat. He threw it aimlessly into the floor and began the same process on his shirt. His shoes were kicked off to clatter on the floor, and he worked to remove his trousers as quickly as was possible without getting out of bed. John pressed his bare skin to H.G.’s and marveled at the heat he felt.

“How is that?”

H.G. opened his eyes and could not resist peeking at John’s body. The brief glimpse inspired in him that great spark of desire. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, yes, that’s... It is very good.”

“Take it in,” John encouraged. He was proud of his body and never missed an opportunity to display it.

With permission, H.G. took a better look. He admired John’s arms and chest and, after a moment, became bold enough to look down. “Oh, my.”

John laughed. He put a hand on himself and stroked. “All for you, H.G.,” he said. The smell, the ideas, the vision of a little lamb upon the sacrificial stone, of course John was aroused— or swiftly getting there. “All because of you.” How intimidating it must look. H.G. was so much smaller than him where it truly mattered, and John would tease him over that fact later, when he was far less likely to worry over being offended.

“I’m just- just a little…” H.G. had concerns he could not voice aloud, lest he sound like a coward.

“But you want it,” John said, and it was not a question. From secondhand accounts, he knew what the man was thinking, feeling. Soon, he would become mindless and insatiable.

H.G. hid his face behind his arm again. “Yes,” he quietly confessed, their little secret.

“Show me how much,” John commanded. His hand drifted along H.G.’s side and down his leg before caressing back up the inside of his thigh. “Show me.” Without exposing his eyes, H.G. drew up his legs, bending them, dragging his heels in the sheets until they were up beneath his knees and showing off that sweet little ass. Oh, how wet he was. It glistened in the room’s low light. It dripped into the bed, soiling sheets they would make filthy. And truly wonders never ceased because H.G.’s hole, which should have been colored with the pink of innocence, was strained so slightly red. What a little liar he was, a terrible one. “Just how many fingers did you have up there before I arrived?” John mockingly inquired.

“None,” he insisted, and he was humiliated by the question.

“Herbert George!” John chastised. “This really isn’t going to work if you won’t be honest with me.” Guilt was always a powerful motivator.

H.G. uttered a different answer, but it was quiet and unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Three,” he mumbled.

“Three fingers?” John clarified. H.G. nodded. “Well,” he said, “it would seem the work is mostly done, all until we get to the knotting.” It had been ages since John knotted someone. He was a tad excited.

“No, no, no,” H.G. refused. He dropped his arm from his face. “That— The… When you… If you were to...” He could not even say the word. “It leads to pregnancy in most cases, John, and I am certain that is a predicament neither of us wants to experience.” He was very presumptuous to speak on both of their behalf.

“Yes, but if I don’t knot you,” John liked saying the word simply to make him uncomfortable, “this will all be for naught. I will help in relieving nothing.”

“I may not be a doctor,” H.G. asserted, “but I know biology well enough. The lesser action should... It will take the edge off.”

“It won’t do a damn thing,” John defied; however, he was of the persuasion to let H.G. discover that himself the hard way. Nothing would be sweeter than to watch the man fall later and from higher up. What a deplorable sight he would make of himself. Before such promise, John found his patience. “But it is your choice,” he momentarily yielded. “I would never force you.” And he would not. Their every action would be dictated by H.G.’s decisions. But John could not deny that there was greater thrill in affecting the man’s choices than in physically subduing his will, and at their end, H.G. would blame no one but himself.

“Can we…“ H.G. began to ask, only to fail. He was so endearingly bashful. He wanted everything but could say nothing.

“Of course,” John said. H.G. was wearing thin on resolve. When presented with an alternative to his suffering, he became impatient. “You make yourself comfortable.”

H.G. situated the pillows behind his head and back, making a great and cozy mound of them. He laid down and gripped the sheets, preparing himself. His eyes clenched shut. “All right,” he proclaimed, “I believe I am ready.”

John laughed. “You’re not marching to war, H.G.” He laid over the man and kissed up his neck. “Relax, darling.” H.G. shivered at the term and the whisper in which John delivered it. He was so susceptible to anything and everything. “And let John take care of you.” Oh, what an effect that had! It was exactly what H.G. needed but did not know about. He wanted to let John control him. It seemed they were in agreement.

There was hardly any need for John to get his hands dirty— not after H.G. already did the work for him. Therefore, he touched only himself, wrapping his fingers around his cock, teasing it with a firm grip and a promise that greener pastures were to come. His hips thrust between H.G.’s open and inviting legs. John pushed the head of his cock right against that wet hole.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed when he felt H.G. tense. “You can take it. You’re _meant_  to take it. Don’t worry.” John kissed him as a distraction, and the moment H.G. lost himself in that gesture, John pushed inside.

“Oh!” they exclaimed, uttering it against each other’s lips.

H.G. was tight and wet and hot, so hot. The fever of his skin held nothing over that within. “God, you feel so good,” John moaned in his ear. “So tight, so damn tight.” He knew of H.G.’s ex-wife and the occasional tale of their sex life, but if he ever slept with a man (as was his cruelly denied biological impulse), John did not know that. Perhaps he was taking H.G.’s virginity after all. It would hardly be surprising. He acted inexperienced. He felt unused.

“Keep going,” H.G. asked. “Could you keep going, please?” He was hilariously proper.

“I wouldn’t dream of stopping,” John promised, and it was the epitome of truth. He pushed forward— hard— stuffing his greedy friend.

“Oh!” H.G. shouted. “Ah… ah. Yes, John. Yes, please.”

John kept going, all the way. His knot was not yet formed, but oh, it rested against that wet ass and wanted. He held position for just a moment, and then he retreated. It was agony to deny his cock that suffocating heat, but the drag through H.G.’s tight rim was enticing compensation. John came nearly out before pushing back in. He started up a repetitious rhythm. H.G. loved it.

“Yes,” he groaned. “That’s really… That feels very good, John. Ah… Please, yes. Like that. Please don’t stop.”

“That’s right,” growled John. “Take it up that needy ass, you desperate little bitch.”

“John, please,” H.G. said, and his tone of voice was scolding. Even in bed, the man was a boring little angel. He could not suffer a few degrading word choices for the sake of the atmosphere.

John relented, acknowledging H.G.’s line in the sand. Before the end, he would kick up the gritty earth and abolish that line. “You feel so good, H.G.,” he said, prudent flattery that passed approval. For several long, pleasurable minutes, John rolled his hips forward and back, demonstrating his skill, enslaving his omega friend in gratitude.

“John,” he cried. “Ah, oh… goodness, John. You’re so… incredible. Ah… ah-ah. It’s amazing how you…” He never finished the sentence, but John filled the blanks in himself, exaggerating what they might have been.

His hands groped and molested sensitive skin. His teeth bit at it. His mouth sucked, leaving possessive marks. “God, H.G.,” he mouthed against his shoulder, “I could do this to you all night.” He would. “And never stop.” His straining cock and knot ordered him to end it. John wanted to keep going, but he needed to play the long game.

He pulled out.

When H.G. realized John would not thrust back in, he attempted words several times before he formed them. “Why... Why did you stop?”

John turned around and flopped onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard and moved his hand over himself for stimulation. “I was about to finish,” he said, “and _you_  told me you did not want that.” It was not a lie when spoken, but John knew it would be by the time they arrived here.

“But I’m not... I’m not done, John,” H.G. remarked, feeling and looking deprived.

“No,” he agreed, “and you won’t be, not like that.” H.G. was wrong in his theory. Nothing John did to him would soften the edge of desire. It teased. Now, his body knew what it needed. He would have been better off with nothing as opposed to John’s half-intervention. “Almost...” With a grunt, John came in his hand, wasting everything that should have been spent inside H.G. “...there.” He did not mind too greatly. His knot would take awhile to go down, and as he took his dear time becoming aroused again, H.G. would acquaint himself with true desperation.

John got up to pour himself a drink. He walked around the room completely bare and unashamed, as if he owned the place. He might as well have. He owned its master.

Time was taken at his leisure. John grabbed a tumbler and flipped it over with a bang against the wood. The drink selection was less exotic than in the parlor, but all John ever needed was a good whiskey. As an afterthought, he grabbed a cloth and wet it with cool water.

John sat upon the bed. “Here, H.G., let me.” He put the damp cloth on the man’s head to help with fever. H.G. barely seemed to acknowledge it was on him. He writhed back and forth, and John kept his hand upon the cloth so it would not fall. With his other hand, he drank.

The storm raged outside. Thunder boomed occasionally. Rain pelted the window. Amidst that symphony of nature, John was treated to an accompaniment of moaning, of crying, of praying, begging. It was euphoric.

John watched H.G. twist around in the sheets. He groaned to see the man’s naughty fingers molest himself, English propriety be damned. H.G. stimulated his ass and cock in search of pleasure which would never come.

“Have a drink, my friend,” John encouraged. “It’ll help make that cross easier to bear.” It would make things worse. It would lower already weakened inhibitions. John had to repeat himself twice before the words got through.

H.G. picked up his head. He leaned over the offered tumbler and tried to drink. He sputtered whiskey all over himself and choked.

“Clumsy boy,” John sighed. He took a swig and kept it in his mouth. The kiss was excessively wet as John fed alcohol to him. H.G. swallowed easier. John gave him a second drink and a third, but then his glass was empty.

They resumed their past activities: suffering and observing.

It was an addiction. It was praise of the highest order to watch someone’s world devolve to only him. It was empowering, and despite saving lives every day, John had never felt more godlike. The vocal adulation for his very presence and capabilities was pure and unadulterated worship.

A good hour passed. John considered fucking him again but decided to wait until he had his approval to knot. After all, pulling out was unsatisfying for him as well.

He listened enraptured to his name repeated on those irrepressible pink lips. “John,” they mindlessly cried over and over. “John… _John_.”

“Shh,” John murmured. He petted H.G.’s head and brushed the wet hair from his face. “I’m right here.”

“I need you… please.” His eyes squeezed shut and he whimpered like a dog.

John glanced at the clock against the wall. “Hm,” he considered, “I thought you’d be at least another ten minutes in asking.”

“What?” he weakly questioned.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” John leaned down and kissed his forehead. “How do you need me?” John wanted to hear the words. He required them.

“Please,” H.G. begged. “Please,” he shouted, “knot me.” His every sense of shame abandoned him. “Do it, please. Please,” he whined. “I need it, I need it, I need you.”

“H.G.,” John said very seriously, “I really don’t think I should.” No, he should not. Obviously, he was going to, but if H.G. happened to remember the conversation later, it was vital he recall John as the voice of reason.

“You have to,” H.G. insisted. His eyes were weak. His body was exhausted. His spirit was frustrated. “I need you, John. Please,” he implored, “please, forget everything else I said.”

John grinned wickedly. “Darling,” he cooed, “all you had to do was ask.”

He climbed back on top of H.G. and swore he heard the man sigh in relief. Grasping legs wrapped around John’s waist and tried to pull him in.

“Wait a moment,” he said with an amused chuckle. “Let me get a look at you, all right?” He wanted to torture his friend, delay his gratification. “H.G., you are soaking,” John observed. His hole was a lewd mess of dripping fluids. Teasing himself with his own fingers made things so much worse. John pushed his leg. “Come on, get up,” he ordered. “Get up before you ruin the whole damn bed.”

“I can’t,” H.G. refused.

John groaned in frustration. He grabbed one of the thinner, less ornate blankets and folded it over thrice. “Work with me,” he said, but H.G. would do no such thing. His priorities were elsewhere. John picked up his lower body with one arm and slid the blanket beneath him in hopes of saving the mattress. John liked H.G.’s bed. It was fairly comfortable, and he would hate to see it ruined, especially when he wanted to extend his own use of it past the night.

“John,” H.G. called. “John, you have to do it now. You have to.”

“Of course, of course,” he promised. For the second time, John pushed into that wanting ass. It was looser than before— and wetter, so much so he could barely find his traction. H.G. felt no less amazing. It was merely a different sensation, which John swiftly adjusted to. They were both of them in their element, giving and taking. It was what nature always wanted from them, and now they answered its call. They became no better than animals.

“I need it,” H.G. demanded, as if the fucking were not good enough. It was not, but John wanted to make him wait. He wanted to see how far he could drag H.G. down.

“Not yet,” he pitied, and he gave H.G. a good kiss. “You want my knot, you wait until it is big and full for you. Will you wait?” He wanted H.G. to speak with foul, repeated words. “Will you wait until my great big knot is ready for your tight, insatiable ass?”

“Yes,” he panted.

“‘Yes’ what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Well, that was certainly unexpected. No doubt a remnant from his school days and its ingrained respects.

“No, H.G.,” John clarified. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” he begged, “don’t… don’t— Ah!— make me.”

John sighed. They were not there yet. They were not at mindless obedience. H.G. was very headstrong for an omega. He was still weak like one, however, so John took his time. He slowed his thrusts, bringing himself down before he neared the edge. He played with H.G.’s body, picking up that omega cock that was fascinating in its own way, a way that questioned practicality.

“Look at this little thing,” John ridiculed. He let it rest in his hand without gripping or moving. John was so oddly captivated by its diminutive size. He was intrigued all of it fit in the palm of his hand while fully erect. “Is this the real reason for the divorce, H.G.?” He received no answer, not that one was expected. John pumped his own hard cock into the man. He jerked H.G.’s between his fingers. It was nothing but another teasing pleasure without end. He would not cum until John knotted him.

“Please,” H.G. spoke again, “faster.” John minimally changed his pace. “Harder. Go harder.” John’s knees came off the bed, and he put his weight into fucking, going deep without going all the way. He went faster. “Don’t stop,” H.G. begged. “Don’t stop again, John. Never stop.”

‘Never’ had such a glorious ring to it. ‘Never’ was a word John delighted to hear and relished in considering. Dare he pose the idea that ‘never’ was Heaven while on Earth, an actually attainable paradise?

“You don’t want me to stop?” he mocked.

“Don’t- Don’t stop before the end,” H.G. edified. “Don’t stop before you…”

“Before I?” He would say it or receive nothing.

“Knot me,” H.G. asked. “Knot me in the… Knot me there, please, in the… in my… ass.”

John growled with satisfaction. He kissed H.G. deeply and hungrily as he pulled out his cock. “Turn around,” he ordered. “On your knees, go on.”

H.G. rolled over and brought himself up into position. His back sloped down from his raised ass to his cheek rubbing against the pillow. John stuck a finger in his sloppy hole. He added his cock in with it. H.G. whined at the tighter fit that John enjoyed.

“Deal with it,” he said. “I’m getting you ready.”

He kept that up for a few minutes, just his cock and index finger. Then he added another. H.G. held the same displeasure for it, and John gave it the same mind. A few more minutes and John put in a third, squeezing his three biggest fingers into the man.

“John!” H.G. screamed, convinced he was at a breaking point. John knew better, and indeed, after a few moments, H.G. adjusted.

John pulled out.

“You want it,” he said. “You’re getting it, sweetheart.”

He pushed his cock back in, all the way to its end. He kept pushing. H.G. did well at first, but then the knot expanded to its widest girth and he cried.

“No!” he yelled. “No! John! Stop. Stop. It’s too much. I can’t—”

“You _are_ ,” John contradicted. Slowly but surely, he was going in. It was phenomenal to watch himself sink inside and disappear. “Take it,” John commanded. “Take it all, you little slut.” He did not intend to let slip that last remark, but H.G. did not even notice. He was far too busy crying and pleading. John almost swore women complained less when he stabbed them.

Then it was done. John slipped inside completely. H.G. managed to cum at once— finally— then he went completely silent. It gave John a chance to enjoy his own orgasm. It was grand, his patient reward. The relief was as gratifying as taking a piss after holding it for an hour.

“God,” he moaned, “just like that. Just like it should be.” He was meant to knot. Just as H.G. was meant to be right down there taking it.

John knelt above him for a moment, lording his dominance, basking in his purpose.

He laid down, dragging H.G. onto his side with him. He kissed his salty shoulder. “Was it good?” he asked. He kissed the back of H.G.’s neck. “Was it everything you needed?”

“It hurts,” H.G. complained, voice soft. “But yes. It is… so good, John, so very… It’s good.”

It was the exact stroke John’s pride needed, the knowledge that he was right and he was the only thing that could relieve H.G.’s suffering.

He kissed every bit of H.G.’s dewy skin his lips could reach. All the while, John felt his cock continue to ejaculate, going in small amounts until his knot went back down. It was not the day’s ending he saw that morning, but now John could think of nothing better than cumming in his friend’s magnificent ass.

And then, unfortunately, several minutes later, it was over. John pulled out his flaccid cock and spent knot. H.G. complained immediately.

“Do it again, John,” he pleaded. “Go again.” He was already hard.

“Unfortunately,” John replied, “I’m not quite as insatiable as you, H.G.” He reconsidered that. “Well, perhaps I am, but I do have a waiting period to remember. After all, my cock actually matters. Tell me, would you even notice if yours were missing right now?” H.G. did not answer the rhetorical question. John felt arrogantly confident he could say anything and the man was too out of his mind to recall it later.

“Do something?” he asked.

“Very well,” John agreed. He rolled H.G. onto his back again and pushed his legs up and apart. He prodded H.G.’s wet, gaping asshole with his fingers. “Look at that ruined little cunt,” John said in awe. He could not stop looking at it. “Who could possibly want anything to do with it after what I’ve done?” H.G. was hardly ruined, but John liked to qualify him as such, especially out loud. H.G. would recover and return to his previous condition. Until then, he was a beautiful, repulsive mess.

“More,” H.G. demanded when John’s fingers went nowhere near deep enough.

John pushed further in, three of them. He pumped in and out giving his friend only a taste of what was possible, of what was currently attainable. H.G. wanted more. John gave him the fourth finger as well. He considered all five and perhaps his entire hand, but he knew if H.G. remembered it later, he would be humiliated by his own depravity. What more, he would never forgive John for taking it so far. Therefore, four fingers was the maximum, and H.G. enjoyed that as much as he could make himself settle for it.

As soon as John could go again, he was on the man, rutting into him. Still, it did not satisfy. They went again and again, six times total throughout the night. John’s favorite was the time he sat back against the pillows and headboard and made H.G. do all the work. What a sight! And the poor thing was so exhausted he very nearly passed out. That was when John took over again and finished him off but good. It was also their last round. H.G. was sated by necessity. He could go no more. The spirit and the lust were willing, but the flesh was a weak mess.

H.G. did not fall asleep so much as faint. When John pulled out after completion, he was roused momentarily, long enough to mumble a plea that John not leave.

“I could not possibly leave you, my friend,” John promised then exaggerated, “not for every coin in England.” He would have to be mad to trade the warm bed with its pliant figure for the cold storm outside. John would not step foot in those puddles when presented with a better choice, a sinful temptation. He kissed H.G.’s cheek. “Rest peacefully.”

John did not. He had all the energy in the world, enough to run a mile in five minutes. It was agony to contain it. He walked the room once or twice, poured himself another drink. The bottom of the glass was in view when H.G. stirred again. John swallowed it whole. He laid down and put his arm across his friend’s little tummy. He kissed his neck.

“You’re awake.”

H.G. was too tired to answer immediately. “That depends how,” he stopped to catch his breath, “how loosely you want to, uh, categorize ‘awake.’”

“What do you remember?” John’s most important question was a suspicious one to ask first. H.G. thought nothing of it.

“Not very much,” he admitted.

The answer was too vague to please John, but pressing the matter would do more harm than good. If H.G. remembered something incriminating, it would come up in the natural course of events. But even then, John had been careful. He behaved only at H.G.’s behest, leaving his friend no one but himself to blame for the outcome, just as planned. “And how do you feel?” John asked him.

“Mm,” he groaned, “sore.” H.G. was embarrassed to say it, which meant he remembered why he felt the way he did. He remembered they knotted. That saved John from a skeptical explanation. “And a tad thirsty.”

“I tried to make you drink,” John stated. He got the sum of one glass of water into him. Being considerate, he got out of bed and fetched another. When he came back, he stole a kiss in payment. John wanted to preserve the atmosphere from which they only just escaped.

H.G. drank well. “You’re a good friend,” he said. John wanted to laugh. He was anything and everything except that. “Thank you, John.” He put the empty glass on his table.

“I couldn’t let you suffer alone,” John said, and that much was true, though for a different reason than assumed.

John reveled in the new sensation of having such complete and unmitigated power over another human being— and willingly given. It did not best the rush which came from murdering filthy prostitutes, but by God! it damn near touched it. He was not yet finished with such control. He did not want to let go. He would not let go.

He laid on his back next to H.G. “Well,” he spoke to the ceiling in a calm, aloof voice, “I suppose we should marry as quickly as possible.”

H.G.’s face scrunched unpleasantly. “I’m sorry,” he replied, “but I fail to see how the two events are correlated.”

“Perhaps not yet,” John said, “but do give it another nine months.”

Color and blood drained from H.G.’s red face, turning him white as the sheets. Clarity returned, and he remembered why he had not wanted to go all the way with John. What an unfortunate situation for a young, unwed omega. H.G. looked prepared to cry, the little sentimentalist.

“Shh,” John comforted, acting the emotion splendidly. “Shh, shh,” he whispered. He held H.G. and let the man shake inside his strong arms. “Oh, my friend,” he said, “it will be all right. John’s here. I’m here for you.” He kissed H.G.’s disheveled hair, curled from the sweat. “I won’t leave you.” H.G. would not leave him.

“But- But…” H.G. pushed against John’s chest, separating them. “Marriage, John? It’s so extreme. It’s- It’s ridiculous. No offense,” he quickly added. “You and I could never work.”

“We have done well for ourselves,” John defended, “raised our standing for our own benefit and that of our children. Think about it. You have money, intelligence, novels that will one day be the- the best sellers in all of England,” he flattered. “And I? I am a decorated surgeon, the best in all of London, a title I will be recognized with just as soon as those old fools retire.” He waited for the day when the old ways died and his talents finally stood out from beneath the shadow of them. “We are a good match, H.G.”

“Except for the part where I don’t love you,” he stated.

John sighed. “Love,” he spat, “what sort of place does it have in a beneficial marriage? You know who has love, H.G.? The poor, those who marry for love. I have been poor, my friend. I have had money. And I tell you now the latter is... _far_  better than love.” H.G. was a fool to marry for the love he unproductively idealized. “Or you can marry again, divorce again, over and over while you chase your impractical dream. You’ll be an old maid before you’re lucky enough to find it, and even then, who’s to say you will?”

H.G. hesitated to speak, and that alone was a boon to John’s case. Conviction required an argument, but uncertainty could be exploited.

John rolled onto his side to look at H.G. He was fond of his friend and those boyish good looks with their matching ignorance. His hand was calm and delicate when he touched the man’s face. His fingers lovingly traced his cheek. With all tenderness not corrupted by his wicked soul, John sweetly asked, “Marry me, Herbert George Wells.” He kissed him and it was permitted. It was affectionate— or close enough. “Marry me and we will find a way to love. We’ll love our child. Isn’t that enough?”

“We don’t know it took,” H.G. desperately contested.

“You don’t know it didn’t,” John countered. His side of the debate carried far greater weight. It had worse consequences. “You don’t have to marry me. It’s your choice, H.G. I promise.” There was no choice. John would wear him down. “But if I were you, I would make it soon, head off the rumors sure to come. Bastards don’t fair well in this world.” John knew from experience. “A boy can make his way if he persists, but a daughter— _your_  daughter— she will be most difficult to marry off. She’ll never find the love you venerate, my friend.” H.G. was falling to persuasion. John had him. “But born... into a family as prosperous as ours could be,” he tempted, “she could have her pick of nearly any man in this city.” John was not above consideration for the next generation, but he knew H.G. was more susceptible to it. Thus were the biological concerns of his gender. “I know you long for utopia, but mankind is not yet there.” Man would never set aside hatred and violence. H.G. was a fanciful dreamer. “And if it should come to pass, I hardly believe it will start in London of all places. The class system is a war you will not win. Play their game or die, and watch your children suffer.” H.G.’s kind heart would be his undoing, and unfortunately, John knew all his strings to pull. The man was highly intelligent for a simpleton. A dedication to trusting others made him exceedingly gullible. “You are a futurist, H.G.,” John implored. “Tell me what a future looks like for you if we do not wed.” He had no immediate answers, or rather, he had none he wished to give. “What does it look like for your children, for your children’s children? The five generations to your utopia has four generations between it. Do not forsake them. And do not scorn my proposal. I take responsibility for my role in what we did. Is that not admirable?”

“Marriage is- is suffocating, John. I want no part of it if not for love.” How frustrating.

“Do not think of it as marriage,” John reasoned. “Come now, consider it a partnership. We are friends, are we not? Who’s to say we couldn’t coexist?” H.G. opened his mouth with some futilely grasping thread of logic, so John interrupted him. “Look,” he placated, “we can always divorce after the child is born.” They would never divorce. “If you do find your true love, I won’t keep you.” John would sabotage such a romance. “What have you to lose?” There was more to gain, though it belonged mostly to him.

H.G. knew that as soon as he said yes, the deal was sealed. He could still back out if he tried, but even with cold feet, he was not a man to toy with John in such a way, leading him on, letting him become excited. He saw marriage as a commitment and did not know that John chose to view it as a rope which would tie them together, cage them together. But even with their differing perspectives, all John said was not wrong. That was why he said it, to convince H.G. with undeniable fact. It could not be dismissed.

The inevitable occurred.

“All right,” H.G. surrendered. He had no reasoning John could not shoot down. He would lose. He had lost. “We’ll...” He could not foul the word of marriage, not with John, not just yet. “Soon,” he swore, “soon.”

John smirked. Victory was never doubted yet tasted no less sweet for its simplicity. He would celebrate their wedding night and many after. H.G. would not escape the very reason for their union. He would not dissolve it in two months’ time if no symptoms of a child presented. John planned to ensure conception and secure their marriage.

He took the ring from his smallest finger and put it on the ring finger of H.G.’s left hand. The fit was a little tight, but it was hardly permanent. “I’ll get you a better one,” John told him. H.G. looked at the ring and was unsure how he should regard it. He turned his hand back and forth, watching the metal band catch on the dim light of the room. John took hold and kissed it, distracting H.G. from heavy doubt and complicated thought. “We’ll need a witness or two,” he noted.

“I’ll call on our friends,” H.G. said. “In a few nights, I’ll call them to the house, and, I suppose, we’ll tell them the news. Until then...” He pulled the ring off his finger and returned it to John. “It’s our secret, yes?”

It was very difficult for John to not be angered by H.G.’s reluctance and want for secrecy. He misrepresented his impatience and frustration as excitement. “I can’t wait.”

John kissed his hesitant fiancé. H.G. tried to learn enthusiasm for the task which would soon become their second nature. He was eager, eager to counterfeit romance.

In a few nights, as promised, H.G. summoned John and all their friends to the house. By his own fault and demonic compulsion, John was late, and nothing went the way it was supposed to after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the lead in for the first episode a little. In that H.G. called everyone there for an engagement announcement, but while waiting for John, he got distracted talking about other things, which led to spouting off about his time machine. Then he found out John was Jack the Ripper and I guess the engagement’s off. Haha. 
> 
> John didn’t get his chance to have sex with H.G. again and again to ensure a pregnancy like he wanted, so it’s up to reader interpretation if H.G. is pregnant during the series. I’m not going to write anymore, but I can imagine them running into each other in 2017 New York and John informing H.G. of an invention he just found out about: the pregnancy test. Then he tries to get him to take one in some half-assed attempt to keep H.G. committed to him and not turn him over to the police. Of course H.G. won’t take it with John, but he might do it on his own later to get an answer to his dreaded curiosity. Honestly though, who wants confirmation that they’re pregnant with Jack the Ripper’s baby? You put that test off as long as possible.
> 
> PS: I LOVE comments! ♥ And I love you too, gorgeous~ You made it all the way to the end, didn't you? ;)


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